Cold Steel, Warm Blood
by TheClowningPrince
Summary: Everyone knows the story of Michael Myers and that fateful Halloween Night. The story of a young boy, bullied and tormented, who became a mute, homicidal killer... Or so they're told... Meet Jonathan Mills, the perfect example of Jekyll and Hyde Syndrome. By day, he is a well respected, up and coming Psychologist. By night... something worse. Takes place during the 2007 movie. AU.


**A little idea I had bouncing around my head after I read a really good fanfic the other day. Will remain as a one-shot for the time being until I can finish my other stories. Hope you like it!**

 **Image is not mine. Source is Jar Cur on Pinterest. If you recognize image as yours, please let me know and I will give credit where credit is due.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **xxxxx**

Psychopath: A mentally ill or unstable person; especially: a person affected with antisocial personality disorder.

 _Sociopath/ASPD/Antisocial Personality Disorder_ : A mental health disorder characterized by disregard for other people.

 **xxxxx**

Sociopath.

 _And aptly so. I don't like_ humans _. Too loud, too smelly, too… annoying._

Psycho.

 _Insulting… insensitive… not far from the truth though._

Homicidal maniac.

 _Heh. If only they knew._

He took up his beloved blade and allowed a moment to admire the sheer beauty of his most favored tool. Neither too large, nor too small. Seven inches of glinting, silver steel. Its tang set firmly in the oak handle, carved to mold to His hand perfectly. Its edge sharpened and honed to the point where you could perform flawless surgery. His most treasured possession.

He looked up to stare into the mirror set before Him, gazing at the face that gazed back. Long, slicked back brown hair. Pale skin set perfect over a strong, lightly stubbled chin, a sharp jawline, a straight nose. Hauntingly green eyes drank in the sight before him, and pale lips pulled slightly upwards in a pleased smile.

His eyes travelled down to his attire. Tonight was the night to hunt, so He dressed appropriately; a tailored, midnight-blue, three-piece suit with a glossy-black vest covering a crisp, white dress shirt. No tie. His lip curled at the thought. He hated ties. Despised them. They were constrictive and pointless.

Beneath the suit jacket, a small sheath hung close to His rib cage on His left side. He was right handed. Smiling minutely, He slid the gleaming blade into its sheath, taking pleasure in the sound of the steel gliding on leather and the faint 'snick' of the tool settling in place. Waiting to be drawn. Waiting to be used.

Muffled shouts broke Him from His reverie. _Ah, my guest is awake!_ With a gleeful expression, He buttoned the second button on his jacket and crossed the room to a heavy, steel door, secured with three deadbolts, a cross bar, and an industrial grade key-lock. With nimble, experienced fingers, He deftly undid each lock without hesitation, unlatched the bar, and unlocked the door with a heavy, iron key. The door swung open with an ominous, rusty groan.

"H-hello?" A tremulous voice called out. "I-is someone there? Somebody, please help me!"

He grinned a manic smile as He slowly began to descend the wooden stairs at a leisure pace. He began to hum softly to Himself as he came upon the steel-plated basement floor which led to another, less secured door. This one had only one deadbolt, a key lock - which required a different key than the first door - and a small, impact-proof glass window. He peered through the window, still humming softly, and spied His current _guest_.

A young man, possibly in his mid-twenties, with short, curly blond hair, a slim build, and hazel eyes, lay strapped to a stainless-steel table in the middle of a ten-foot-by-ten-foot room. The floor was stainless-steel, decorated liberally with shallow-cut grooves and non-slip padding. A heavy, square-foot steel grate, set over a large drainage hole, lay just beneath the table. The walls were concrete, and littered with metal shelving, all supporting a menagerie of odds and ends; from jars filled with preserving fluid, to various tools and implements. Each with their own purpose. Long, fluorescent lights hummed in the ceiling and cast long shadows on the floor.

The young man looked positively terrified and utterly confused; this only enhanced His excitement and had his knife-hand twitching eagerly. _No! I must remain patient. There will be time enough to do my work._ He patted his jacket where his beloved knife rested soundly. _Soon, my dear, your thirst will be quenched._ He unlatched the door and inserted another iron key into the lock, the bolt sliding out of place with a heavy clunk. He grinned widely.

~break~

Wide, terrified eyes snapped up towards the door at the sound and the young man's heart seemed to try and escape his chest when a man in a blue suit entered the room. The man's manic grin unnerved him, and his wrist strained against the thick, leather straps that held him secure to the table.

"Oh good! You're _finally_ awake!" The man's voice was smooth as honey yet laced with a poison that spoke volumes. He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, His arms clasped behind His back and that unnerving smile still affixed on His face. "I feared you might not wake before I left. I prefer to speak with my guests before my… _excursions_."

"W-who are y-you?" The young man asked waveringly, his body stiff with fear.

"Ah, an excellent question!" He exclaimed jovially. "One I feel I must answer with a short story," He pulled a stainless-steel chair from desk in the corner and took a seat next to his guest. "Now, this is a true story, so do not doubt it's content for a second, understand?" Without waiting for a response, He began. "It all started many years ago, when I was but seven years old, living in Haddonfield, Illinois. I lived with an older sister, a baby sister, my mother, my stepfather and my… my big brother - who was only a few years older than me. I was a bright, young thing with an insurmountable thirst for knowledge. Anything and everything I could learn, I did. The specialists called me a 'child prodigy' and a 'genius in the making'. My comprehensive skill, my ability to understand any subject, was startling and well beyond the years of any young child.

"Naturally, I saw this as a blessing, a gift from some higher power to better my life and those of my family. You see," He cleared His throat and shifted slightly in His chair, "we were not a wealthy family. My mother was an… _exotic_ dancer and made a meager paycheck that just barely kept my family afloat. And my stepfather was an… _unsavory_ man who lazed around the house, consuming vast amounts of alcohol and playing poker with his other unsavory friends. Because of our monetary status, we had to wear cast-offs. This, combined with my mother's _unconventional_ employment, insured that me and my brother were bullied and taunted in school," He took a deep breath, slowly quelling the anger that had begun to bubble up steadily.

"We endured for a long while," He continued after a brief pause, "me and my brother. My brother had taken it upon himself to protect me, always diverting the attention of bullies unto himself. He took the beatings meant for me from our stepfather. He endured the name-calling, the taunts, the humiliation. However, despite his efforts, I was still bullied and beaten, though not as harshly as before. He became my hero, my brother. My light in the darkness. He was always the rock, always strong and unmoving… until it got to be too much," He sighed heavily and regarded his _guest_ with a sad look.

"On October 31st, 1989, Halloween Night, our lives changed forever. Our eldest sister's boyfriend had taunted my brother one too many times, our stepfather had laid his hand on my brother for what would be the last time," His mouth turned up in a sad smile. "Donning a 'Shape' mask and taking up the kitchen knife, my brother had finally collapsed under the psychological strain. He first restrained our sleeping stepfather to his recliner and slit his throat," the young man's eyes widened at His almost conversational tone, as if He was talking about the weather. "When our sister's boyfriend went to the kitchen to find some of my brother's Halloween candy, my brother beat him to death with a baseball bat," He shivered at the image and closed his eyes with a small smile. "So much blood," He murmured.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the horrified young man on the table. Grinning, he savored the expression of fear before continuing. "He then ventured into our eldest sister's bedroom and stabbed her in the stomach. She sister attempted to escape, stumbling down the hallway, blood trailing behind her… my brother followed her and stabbed her through the heart; ending her life." He silently observed the young man for a moment before he asked in a quiet voice, "have you heard this story?"

The young man shook his head, horror and fear coursing through every fiber of his being. The way the man regaled his story as if reliving fond memories was sickening and horrific.

Clucking His tongue, he shook his head in disappointment. "Such a shame. Everyone seems to have forgotten this story, even the lovely people of Haddonfield," He sighed sadly. "I suppose they simply wanted to forget such a momentous night: The night of Samhain when Hell walked the Earth," He waved his hand dismissively and turned to the young man. "Now you know the story. The story of a man turned monster. A man who was broken. That man… was Michael Myers." When the young man's eyes widened even more, He smiled widely and stood. He smoothed out his rumpled jacket and moved to leave the room.

Pausing at the door, He glanced back at his quest and his smile widened into a manic grin. "To answer your question, my young friend, my name is Jonathan Myers. But the papers seem to have taken to calling me 'Jack the Ripper'. An apt name on account of my love for the blade," He glanced at his watch and clucked his tongue. "Ah, damn. I'm late. Until next time, my young friend!" With that, the door slammed closed and the clunks of the locks being turned echoed through the concrete box.

 **xxxxx**

 _American Neurological Association_

 _Aon Grand Ballroom_

 _Chicago, Illinois_

John took in the grandeur of the ballroom as he sipped his champagne and allowed a small, genuine smile. He both valued and detested these social events. On the one hand, he despised socializing with the rich fat-cats and making small talk with other 'acclaimed' doctors. On the other, these events were perfect for his night time excursions. There was always the lonely reporter sequestered at the bar, batting her lashes at the nearest male to show her the slightest bit of attention.

John Myers - though his public name was 'Mills' - grinned when his emerald gaze landed on one such reporter. A pretty little blonde with blue eyes and a red evening dress that hugged her curves and came with a plunging neckline. By the slight sway in her upper body, the flush in her cheeks, and the incessant giggling, John could tell she was very intoxicated. A dangerous glint entered his eyes; _perfect_

He carefully began weaving his way through the crowd towards his prey, much like a lion stalks a lonely gazelle. Just as he was about to approach the blonde, John was intercepted by a man with curly brown hair wearing a pair of thick glasses.

"My god! Are you Dr. Jonathan Mills?" The man asked excitedly, his brown eyes wide and a large grin on his face.

John arched an eyebrow and took a brief second to examine the man. _Perfectly pressed pocket hanky, freshly ironed pants and suit jacket. Impeccably clean, did_ not _offer his hand in greeting. Clear indications of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and possible case of Mysophobia. Expression of admiration suggests a conversation about respective fields of research, coupled with mild apotheosis._ John groaned inwardly, he despised brown-nosers.

"Yes, that's me," John replied with a false-polite smile. He forewent extending his hand. "And you are?"

"Oh, my apologies," the man stated nervously. "Dr. Ian Cohen, I'm studying at the University to become a Criminal Psychologist."

"A very admirable field," John replied politely, silently willing this conversation to end.

"Thank you, sir," Cohen gushed, practically beaming. "Though, not as admirable as your field, Doctor; Psychopathy. Your research and contributions to the field of Neurology and Psychology are ground breaking!"

"Well, thank you very much," replied John. He glanced over at the bar and was irritated to see the blonde woman being escorted by a man with a carnal goal in mind. _Fuck._

"I was wondering, sir, if I might have a moment to discuss-"

"Apologies, Ian," John cut the excitable man off with small gesture. "Something important has come to my attention that I must attend to. Perhaps we could have this discussion at a later date?"

"Oh… of-of course," the man's face fell just a fraction, but he managed to muster a small smile.

John nodded and quickly walked away from the man and disappeared into the crowd. His anger was spiking, and his right hand was itching for his knife. _That fucking imbecile! What I would give to put my blade through his heart!_ His left hand clenched around his champagne flute with barely contained rage. _Calm, Jonathan, calm yourself. You still have your_ guest _. You were aware this might happen._ He took several, slow breaths and felt his boiling blood cool off to a low simmer. _Better._

After several hours of avoiding conversation with what he called 'undesirables', John was about ready to call it a night when his eye caught someone he'd never though he would see at one of these events; Dr. Samuel Loomis. The long-running and consistent psychologist to one of the most infamous fugue catatonia patients in the continental U.S.; Michael Myers.

"Excuse me, Dr. Loomis?"

The balding, grey-haired man turned and came face to face with John. "Yes?"

"Hello, I'm Doctor Jonathan Mills, I'm applying for your position on the Board once you retire," John explained with a polite smile.

Loomis furrowed his brow in thought for a moment, trying to place the name and or face. His eyes widened, and he smiled widely. "Of course! Dr. Mills, so nice to finally meet you," the men shook hands and Loomis smiled. "You seem quite young to be a psychologist, if you don't mind me saying."

John smiled and shook his head. "Not at all, Doctor. I'll be turning twenty-four next month."

"Goodness," Loomis exclaimed, his eyes wide. "You might be one of the youngest psychologists in the state!"

"In the country, actually," John corrected shyly. "I obtained my Masters in Psychology just last year, and a Bachelors in Neurology almost two years ago."

"You must have quite the intellect to achieve so much in so little time," Loomis commented with a slight grin on his wrinkled face.

"My I.Q. has been tested at 152," John confirmed humbly. "Due to this, I was able to achieve both degrees in record time."

Loomis smiled and snatched two champagne flutes from a nearby waiter. He handed one to John and the pair toasted, each taking a healthy sip from bubbly drink. "Incredible, Doctor Mills. Have you any field experience yet?"

John nodded, "nothing noteworthy; a few patients in mental institutions and I filled in for a marriage counselor for a couple weeks. Like I said, nothing noteworthy, but it pays."

"Of course, of course," Loomis replied with a small nod.

The old doctor eyes the younger man before him with a curious and analytical eye. The young man was just that, young, but he was incredibly intelligent and seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. Perhaps…

"John - may I call you John? - John, you seem like a trustworthy and hard-working fellow. You're young and well educated, with a clear appreciation for the field," Loomis said, John practically glowing from the praise.

"Thank you, sir," John replied humbly.

"John…" Loomis began again. He paused and glanced around. Motioning for John to follow him, Loomis led the younger man to a more secluded corner of the room and spoke to him in a quiet voice. "As you are well aware, I will be retiring in a couple months, and with that, I'll be leaving behind some very important patients who have come to rely on me and my company."

John stayed silent, listening to the man intently. _This may be it! It took years and a lot of ass-kissing but if he says what I think he'll say… it will all be worth it_.

"I wonder," Loomis continued, eyeing the young man with a slight gleam in his grey eyes, "if you might shadow me until then, get to know my current patients and allow them to get used to you. Once I feel they've adjusted to talking with you, then I can retire happily, knowing they will be taken care of."

"I… I don't know what to say," John said, eyes wide with shock. Inside, the man was ecstatic. _Yes! Fucking yes! About fucking time!_

Loomis clapped John on the shoulder and raised his class with a smirk and twinkling eyes. "Say yes, John."

"Yes," John parroted after a brief pause to think.

The pair toasted and drained their champagne, grinning like madmen for very different reasons. After another ten minutes of conversation, the two doctors traded information and parted ways, both intent on venturing home for the night to put their excited minds to rest.

 **xxxxx**

John stumbled into his modest, two-story Colonial Revival home. The soft-glow of the wood flooring in the low light gave off a sense of warmth, and the cream walls made him feel safe and comfortable. Not one for alcohol, John hurried into his quartz countertops, stainless-steel laden kitchen and pulled a small bottle of sports drink from the fridge and a bottle of multivitamins from the cabinet - a handy trick he discovered that helped battle morning hangovers.

He chewed the multivitamins and washed them down with the berry flavored drink whilst deep in thought. Months of trying to catch Loomis at one of those events, years of hard work and study, and now it was all finally paying off. You see, Samuel Loomis was one of the leading psychologists in the United States, having visited every mental institution in the country and treated hundreds of patients in his forty-year career. This, however, was not what gave his rise to fame.

What most don't realize, is that Doctor Samuel Martin Loomis did not obtain national popularity until just before the Spring of 1990. What really launched Samuel Loomis into stardom was the interaction between him and a ten-year-old boy after Halloween Night, 1989; Michael Myers.

After Loomis was assigned to be Michael's psychologist by the Smith Grove Warren County Sanitarium. With their interaction came several book deals and dozens of lectures and interviews. Michael Myers was a veritable gold mine of psychopathy study, and Samuel Loomis was the excavator.

Once Michael was hospitalized, and John was settled in a foster home, John began what would be a long venture into the world of academia to achieve one day what he had just achieved tonight; a chance to speak with Michael.

 **xxxxx**

 **I know this isn't a very big fandom, but if you liked it, and you think I should continue, then I will. But, my other stories will take precedence over this story.**

 **Anyway, don't forget to R &R and let me know what you think.**


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